Page 49 of Full Tilt
Hellion
Fuck off.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
TOMMY
“Take a seat, Tommy.” Adrian Carney, otherwise known as the New York Blades GM—and pretty much the only person on the team who’s ever liked me—points to a soft black leather chair set on the opposite side of his desk.
He straightens his tie and pulls off his glasses, and I flop down, drawing a full breath into my lungs after an intense practice session. Since I received the written warning, I’m not idiot enough to know that if I want to stay on the team, then I need to step up my performance. Even if there was nothing wrong with my game in the first place.
Adrian rolls his lips together, lifting his eyes from the desk in front of him to mine.
I sit back in my chair and spread my legs, folding my arms in a protective stance.
“Curtis Freeman called you a dangerous thug on social media last night. He went on a long ramble about how you should be ejected from the league and stripped of your contract with us.”
When I was called up to his office ten minutes ago, I’m not sure exactly what I expected the GM to say. But it wasn’t that.
I clear my throat, my pulse picking up at the potential repercussions that could rain down on my career. Pretty much the entire hockey community will side with Curtis Freeman after what went down. Despite multiple protests from our PR team, I no longer have social media accounts since I fucking hate them and all the dirty laundry society is hell-bent to air online. I wash my shit in private.
“I haven’t been made aware of any statement he put out,” I reply, never more grateful for living offline.
Adrian shakes his head, making full eye contact with me. “That’s because the post was taken down within seconds of it going live—and I mean seconds. I don’t know if his agent got ahold of it or if he had second thoughts, but let’s just say, limited screenshots are doing the rounds, which our PR team is working to have removed where possible.”
Feeling like he’s skating around the real reason he called me into his office, I scratch at my chin. “So, why am I here, talking to you?”
Adrian Carney is one of the most confident guys I’ve ever met. He makes a decision and runs with it, no matter what anyone says. When he did a deal with the Detroit Sting to trade me here, there were a ton of people fighting it. I half expected the deal to fall through, but it didn’t. Right now though, as he drums his fingers on the dark wooden desk in front of him, I know whatever is going to leave his mouth next is not in my favor.
My left foot bounces in anticipation as he opens his mouth, looks at me again, and then averts his gaze.
“The post might’ve been removed, but we, as a team, cannot ignore the truth in what Freeman had to say. I feel like it would be remiss of us as an organization not to respond in some way. The league isn’t taking action against you on this occasion,but that doesn’t mean to say we can turn a blind eye to your continued poor conduct.”
I nod my head, already knowing exactly where this is going. “You want to go further than just the written warning you originally handed out.”
A sharp knock sounds on the GM’s door before Coach Morgan steps into the room and quickly takes a seat next to me. He knows I had a great practice, but you wouldn’t believe it with the way he can barely acknowledge my existence.
Like a petulant child, I throw my head back toward the ceiling and groan. “Can someone just come the fuck out with it so I can go home and punch something?”
The next voice belongs to Coach. “While we will include you on the roster for the next five games, your ice time will be limited, if at all.”
My jaw hangs open. “Five games?!”
Coach Morgan looks across at the GM for support.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I exclaim, pushing my chair out and standing.
The GM holds up a calming hand. “Sit down, Tommy.”
His condescending tone, like he’s trying to pacify a toddler having a tantrum, only enrages me further.
I point at my chest, heat flaming into my cheeks. “I just put in the shift of my life out there, and now you’re telling me I have to sit out five games because some baby can’t take a beating for being a fucking brat to me?!” I scoff at my GM. “I thought you were tougher than to yield to my haters. And you …” I turn to Coach. “You need me on the first line, and you know it.”
My outburst is met with silence for what feels like an age.
Finally, Coach speaks as I pace the room like some kind of bull, hands shoved into the pockets of my gray sweats.
“I want to try out alternative lines too. The guys on the team see you as a loose cannon. Moreover, you can’t be a valuableasset to me if you aren’t a team player. You’re spending more and more time in the box when you’re paid to be on the ice.”
